Dress Shopping

- had Malfoy suddenly become a personal stylist?-

There were two reasons why she hated dress shopping. One, she wasn't a "girly girl" like everyone else she thought she was. Up until the age of five, she had worn her brother's hand-me-downs, and she had been quite comfortable running around the village in overalls and shirt that where way too long for her. There had been no money to buy her nice clothes, to buy her "girly" clothes, but she never complained. She liked wearing the holey, too long shirts, and she loved being able to tie her hair up and act like she was a boy.

Two, she hated shopping, of any kind, except for Quidditch shopping. It was just who she was. Her home was the bustling interior of the cramped Qudditch shop, where children ran around ecstatically, delight written on their faces. She was fine choosing brooms of the best quality money could buy, but when it came to choosing a suitable dress, she was screwed.

Taking a deep breath, she tugged on the long ends of her red hair, scanning the dress rack in front of her, her teeth gnawing of the soft flesh of her lower lip. Gods, was this going to take any longer? She had already been standing here for half an hour, and she was getting fidgety as the time passed and she wasn't able to find a dress. It just wasn't fair. Other women were able to flit in and spot a dress, and leave content with it in their hot hands.

Her eyes closed, she stretched a hand out.

Please, please, just give me something nice, just this once. Please.

She stifled her laughter at the dress she beheld her eyes on. This was possibly the worst waste of expensive material she had ever seen. It was horrible, and the right red bow that had sewed onto the front didn't help whatsoever.

She put it back, before searching through the rack once more, hoping that there would be something there that she hadn't spotted the first time around. There wasn't, and she pulled her hands back with a disgruntled sigh, resisting the urge to stomp her feet on the ground and scream. Stuff this, she hated shopping!

They'd just have to accept whatever she wore, no matter how horrible it was. She grabbed the closest thing to her, and marched into the changing rooms, gnawing down on her lower lip as she undid her zipper. The dress was pulled up, grunts escaping her mouth as she pulled it up over her hips. She needed to stop allowing her mother to serve her seconds at dinner.

Gods, she looked horrible.

The pink of the dress clashed with the new sun-burn she had received on Saturday, and with her hair. The lace on the bottom did nothing for the dress, as did the heavy layers. She looked like a frumpy sixty-year-old, and she hated it. Swallowing her sobs of despair, she pulled the dress off, without a second look to the mirror.

Something on the floor caught her eye, something that match the wall so well she hadn't seen it before. Sniffling, she bent down, pulled the dress softly, and held it up to her, her eyes red-rimmed in the mirror.

Maybe, just maybe, this dress could be her salvation.

Or not.

With a heavy sigh, she returned both of them back to the rack. It probably wouldn't fit anyway. There would be something wrong with it, just like all of them. She'd just have to wear her old dress robes to the party, and her mother would just have to lump it. She would just have to grin and bear it about the fact that everyone that attended would be dressed perfectly, in new, shiny new, robes, and she would be dressed in robes she'd had ever since she had stopped growing in height. She'd just have to get over it.

She took one last look through the rack in front of her before moving on to the next. Nothing, nothing of interest, nothing that she could possibly wear, in over forty dresses! Gods, she hated this. She hated this more than she hated attending these stupid parties. All this worrying and stressing, and for what? Spending an hour trying to make up small talk to fill the time? Fill that time with an hour of getting absolutely pissed? Having to spend the next morning with a tremendous headache? It really was never worth it.

It was never worth it.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts. She sniffled, before turning around, her teary eyes meeting with a blue-shirt clothed chest. At times like these, she cursed her shortness. She looked up, and met grey eyes.

Malfoy. What the hell was he doing here? This was Muggle London, for Merlin's sake, 'Muggle' London!

Well, that was just great. Dandy. Just blood great.

He smirked down at her, before reaching behind her, to her surprise. She flinched away, the scars on her shoulder and upper back not quite faded yet, all reminders of what they had all suffered in the War. He shook his head at her, before thrusting a coat-hanger into her arms, walking away, and disappearing into the crowd.

Confusion written all over her face, she held the dress up to admire it.

Was this some sort of practical joke? Had Malfoy suddenly become a personal stylist? He knew her better than she knew herself. This dress was perfect. An unexpected squeal came out of her mouth as she hugged the dress to her, the smile wide on her lips.

She didn't even need to try it on.

Somehow, she just knew that the dress would fit, and that it would be perfect for her. The cashier raised an eyebrow at her as she approached the register. "Found your dress then?" the man asked, swiping the price tag. She nodded happily, before digging through her wallet, pulling out two bills.

The man shook her head at her. "No need," he said, pushing the money back to her. She took it in confusion, eyes wide. "It's already been paid for."

Malfoy. It had to be him. Why else did she know that could afford a two-hundred dress just like that? Great, now she could add another thing that she owed him to her list.

Still, as she pulled the dress out with a flourish, showing it off, her mother admiring the olive-green colour and the texture of the material, she could help but feel that he didn't want a reward for purchasing this gorgeous dress for her.

Maybe he just wanted to be forgiven for his sins, and for all that he had done. Maybe he just wanted peace. Maybe the dress was meant as a peace-offering, for all that had happened. She admired herself in the mirror, unable to wipe the smile from her beaming lips.

Maybe, just maybe, it would take less time than she thought to forgive Draco Malfoy.

Ginny let out a giddy giggle, twirling around her cramped room in happiness. She collapsed on the bed, pumping her legs in the air.

The perfect dress was finally in her grasp.

Aww, love this. First time writing Draco/Ginny, so hopefully it wasn't too iffy and off! This was written for the Feeling of Colour Challenge over of HPPFC. Reviews are love, and who knows, Draco/Ginny might just become one of my favourite pairings?